Most of Me by Robyn Michele Levy

Author:Robyn Michele Levy
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Health
ISBN: 9781553656333
Publisher: Greystone Books
Published: 2011-09-22T16:00:00+00:00

7

In Search of Kick-Ass Clarity

IT’S SEPTEMBER. The forecast calls for heavy showers of advice from oncologists and a flood of anxiety. Expect seasonal support from breast cancer survivors. There is an 80 percent chance of scattered thoughts and indecision.

It sure is handy living in the same neighborhood as Susan. Not only is she a breast cancer survivor, but she’s also a breast cancer encyclopedia. Consequently, our daily walks with Nellie serve as peripatetic tutorials in chemotherapy, radiation, and hormone treatment—all of which may be prescribed when I meet my oncologist.

There’s a lot to learn, and none of it is pleasant. Today I take mental notes while Susan talks chemo:

“I have to tell you, if you have to do chemo, make sure you take those antinausea pills before your treatment. The best ones cost one hundred dollars a pop, but they’re worth it. Otherwise you’re gonna feel like you’re dying. Actually, you’re gonna feel like you’re dying regardless, but the pills will take the edge off. And drink lots of water before and after each session; you want that poison out of your system as quickly as possible—it’s hell on the organs, especially the liver. And buy yourself a nightcap, because you’ll be surprised at how cold it is, sleeping with a bald head. Of course, your immune system is going to be trashed. So, if I were you, I’d ask Naomi not to bring her friends home while you’re getting treatment. Kids always have germs. The last thing you need is to catch a nasty cold or flu.”

“You mean I’d have a legitimate reason to keep the teenagers away? Why didn’t you say that in the first place?”

Naomi’s at a new school, in a literary arts program she really likes. But more importantly, she loves her new friends. They drop by after school. Some stay for dinner. Some sleep over on weekends. The same girl shows up every morning before school. Together they turn the upstairs bathroom into a beauty salon, transforming their sleepy faces with cover-up, eyeliner, eye shadow, and mascara. Then they rifle through Naomi’s wardrobe until they agree on the perfect T-shirt to match Naomi’s jeans, leaving the rejected shirts in crumpled clumps on the floor.

I do my best to stay in bed and out of the way, for their sake and for mine. The last thing they need is a one-breasted curmudgeon breathing morning breath down their backs. And the last thing I need is to become one.

It’s always a scramble, Bergen getting the girls out of the house in time to catch the bus. Or Bergen corralling them into the car and driving them to school. But once I hear that front door slam, I take a bow for pulling off yet another one of my self-preserving parent-disappearing acts and emerge from my bedroom, ready to begin my day.

WHEN I WAS LITTLE, I had a hunch that change was inevitable. Feet outgrow shoes. Plants outgrow pots. Families outgrow homes. And eventually, children outgrow childhood. I

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